Conspiracy Theories
by HarvardDropout
Summary: Abducted by the US government, Kyle Broflovski is tasked with the job of getting Subject #2558 to express love and compassion. What at first seems to be impossible turns out to be easier than he thought it would be and Kyle finds himself in too deep. Style - Cryle - minor Lianny. Rating will later change to M.


**This story will be told from Kyle's POV**, except for this first chapter/prologue. This isn't something I'll be updating right away **(Check back in mid-October '12)** since I'm currently busy with my other 3 South Park fanfics, but I thought I'd throw this up to see if anyone would be interested in reading such a story so I'd know whether to actually go through with it or not. I absolutely adore Cryle and hate the lack of fanfiction for the pairing, so I figured I'd help solve that issue and quench my needs at the same time. So yeah. Thanks for checking this out!

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**June 2nd, 2012 at 18:00 - United States Government Testing Facility in Washington, D.C.**

He peered through the one-way glass, gaze settling on a young man in a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of denim jeans. His black hair was short and swept to the side, his face a blank expression as he stared forward at the television, seemingly uninterested in the movie currently being shown. He didn't bat an eye as Simba poked his way under Mufasa's arm to cuddle up next to his newly dead father.

Dr. Haas frowned and pressed the button for the speaker. "You claim to like this film, yet you never seem moved when you watch it," he spoke into the microphone. "Do you not feel saddened for the young cub's loss?"

His question was answered with a middle finger.

Dr. Haas sighed and scribbled a few notes onto his clipboard, making a point to pen down the fact that it _at least_ had to have been the boy's 120th time watching the movie during his 17 years spent under the watchful eye of the U.S. government. Dr. Haas had noticed that the boy was always more interested in animated films and nature documentaries more than any others but was never given an explanation as to why. His 35 years of experience as one of the nation's top psychologists led him to believe that they allowed the young man to get caught up in his own imagination and helped to calm him down, but that was a far fetched theory with Subject #2558; he was an incredibly cut and dry individual who was not one for daydreaming or any sort of communication if he could get away with it. While he was a bit more enthusiastic and chipper as a small child, this quickly changed when he'd learned more about who he was and that a whole world existed outside of the artificially lit building that he'd grown to know his whole life. Now he was just an angry shell of a boy who wasted his days away studying and watching television.

"Would you like some company? Perhaps a visit with #3996 or #2120?"

The boy's hand remained firmly in the air, otherwise not moving a muscle to acknowledge Dr. Haas. With a frustrated breath of air, Haas pushed himself away from the glass and began to make his way down the hall; he needed to talk to General Stock.

For the past 17 years, Haas had been conducting tests to see if #2558 could develop basic and complex human emotions while in a controlled environment. The point was to find if certain emotions were able to be taught to someone without having to experience actual events in the real world to cause their expression. Little progress had been made with only the simplest emotions having been expressed with ease; anger, hatred, and constant calmness. Nothing seemed to move the boy into feeling much anything other than that, and Haas began to bend the rules in order to get a rise out of him, such as giving the boy a larger room and outfitting his living quarters with games and studious materials to keep him busy. #2558 just barely showed interest in these things, but it was enough to egg Dr. Haas on. Haas even allowed him to have far more exposure to others than he was supposed to have in hopes of him being able to relate, but #2558 showed nothing other than pure contempt for them.

Dr. Haas knew that he couldn't continue doing this if there was absolutely nothing to show for all the work he put into this experiment, though. It was nearing the 18th year that he'd been on the project and his colleagues and superiors were growing weary of waiting around for some sort of groundbreaking progress, throwing time and money away on something that wasn't going to happen. #2558 needed to start showing complex emotions or else his funding would be cut short.

Haas was desperate at this point; fear seemed be out of the question for #2558 who never once flinched while watching a horror movie or blinked when someone jumped out at him from around the corner. Pity sat alongside fear on the shelf of misunderstood emotions; #2558 simply smirked when he witnessed another subject being electrocuted. Patience, tolerance, compassion, empathy, and the whole spectrum of love seemed to be a foreign concept to him as even more so.

This was not good at all.

Though he was worried, Haas had one last trick up his sleeve that he was almost certain would work in his favor. He'd been planning it out for almost a whole year and it was absolutely foolproof; if this didn't save his project then nothing would, and he'd be forced to face the music once and for all.

Haas stepped into the large control room where scientists and military personnel would gather to discuss their research and other work-related topics. Off to the side stood a tall and stocky older man, his gray hair cropped short to his head and his lips wrapped around the end of a half-smoked cigar. His forest green military jacket showed off a massive collection of earned decorations that helped to establish his seniority among everyone else if it were ever questioned.

"General Stock," Haas said, greeting the man with a nod of his head. "I've been wanting to speak with you if that's alright."

"How's #2558?" Stock wasted no time with chit chat. "Has there been any progress this week?"

Haas suddenly grew nervous under the man's questioning stare. Stock was his superior, the one who put Haas in charge of his project involving #2558 and overlooked everything that the doctor did in his day-to-day work ventures. Haas knew first hand that Stock did not like it one bit when there was no progress, but he seemed to care less and less with #2558 and his failure to feel. Haas figured that Stock grew bored of shouting and would much rather focus on Haas' other projects and experiments that were going smoothly, but he still couldn't help but feel uneasy whenever the general would ask about #2558.

"He's... fine."

"Fine isn't progress, Haas," Stock said. "Has he been watching those movies? Did they do anything?"

#2558 had watched _a lot_ of movies over his lifetime, but General Stock was referring to a specific bunch. He and Dr. Haas had believed that having #2558 watch movies that displayed strong portrayals of certain emotions would help coax the boy along into feeling them himself, but so far it'd done nothing. Still, when he wasn't being forced to communicat with other subjects or undergoing some sort of testing, they shoveled all types of films in for him to watch in hopes of something happening, and lately it's been mostly old timey classic films that were suggested by the general himself. #2558 showed even less interest in these ones than usual.

"Well, yes but no," Haas sighed. "_Casablanca_ seemed to go right over his head, and I'm quite certain he fell asleep during the first twenty minutes of _The Wizard of Oz_."

"Commie," Stock grunted with the cigar bit between his teeth. "Sittin' around, watchin' that pansy ass lion movie. Can't even enjoy a timeless classic. That's un-American."

Haas chuckled. "Whether or not he's patriotic is not of the issue." He scratched behind his ear, furrowing his brows. "I just don't understand; he has such a fondness for that film, yet he shows not an ounce of emotion while watching it. It makes no sense."

"Yeah, well, he's a piece of work."

Haas nodded. "Craig certainly is _something_."

"What did I tell you about callin' 'em that?" Stock warned. "He ain't nothin' but an experiment so refer to him as such."

"I apologize, sir," Haas said with his head ducked in shame. He always had trouble slipping up and calling the boy by his birth name despite the fact that it was against work protocol. With the amount of time that he spent with #2558 one-on-one though, it was hard not to. For some reason, Haas just couldn't call the boy his government registered code to his face.

What his colleagues didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"Have you tried havin' Dr. Anderson shock 'em again?" Stock asked, having moved on back to the topic of progress. "Hosed 'em down til' he cried? That might do some good in."

"That only makes him angry and violent!" Haas said protectively, not caring to mention the fact that #2558 had never cried before. The last time he ever witnessed honest-to-God sadness from the young man was a little less than 12 years ago when he was 6 years old and had first learned about the outside world, not even crying then. Other than that, the closest thing to sadness that #2558 ever seemed to feel was bitterness and angst.

"Well anger's better than nothin'; at least he's showing _some_ emotion."

"It's positive emotions we need him to express, not negative ones," Haas said. "He has no problem with anger and irritation. He's always one or the other, unless he just doesn't care, which seems to be his default setting."

General Stock harrumphed and balanced his cigar between two fingers while looking over the large display of monitors that lined the walls all around the room. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. Guess it's time to finally scrap this project."

Haas swallowed hard at the idea of throwing almost 18 years worth of hard work, research, and more out the window. Even worse, he didn't like the idea of what 'scrapping a project' entailed when it involved a human test subject. #2558 would be put to death seeing as he was no longer of use. Haas needed to suggest the idea that'd been brewing in the back of his mind for the past ten months and fast.

"If I may," he said. General Stock turned on his heel to give the doctor his full attention. "I've been doing much thinking lately, and well, I believe the best thing we could do at this point is bring someone in from the outside."

"Outside? You mean like a—"

"Yes."

The general hummed and stroked his chin in thought. "I don't know about that, Haas. What good would bringing in a civilian do? That'd do nothing but stir trouble. Picking people off the streets isn't exactly easy to cover up."

"Not unless that person is from South Park," Dr. Haas said with a small smile. "You remember how easy it was to collect #2558 from the hospital the night he was born, do you not? Two local newspaper headlines featuring the infant's sudden disappearance and barely any questions raised when his 'body' was found mauled and unidentifiable in a pocket of nearby woods."

"That's because the strangest shit always happens in that shithole of a town," Stock grunted and puffed on his cigar. He blew a ring of smoke out into the air between them. "Compared to most of the stuff they've seen, a newborn bein' lifted from the ER is tame."

"Which is exactly why I believe that this person we bring in should be from South Park."

Stock barked out a patronizing laugh. "You really think it'll work?"

"It's the only thing we haven't attempted yet."

"Well whatever," Stock said and leaned back against the control panel, crossing his arms over his chest. "I guess one person wouldn't hurt none. I'll put together a team to go in and snatch up some kid that no one will miss first thing Wednesday morning."

The general began to make his exit but Haas rushed to step in front him, stopping the man in his tracks. "That won't do," Haas said hastily. "You cannot just bring in _anyone_."

"And why not?"

"It would be a complete waste!" Haas said. "It'd do absolutely no good, none at all. Crai—" He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose. "#2558 is a very finicky and particular boy, general. You've seen how he was with all of the others that he was introduced to. If we're going to bring somebody in, that person will need to meet certain criteria."

Stock boredly lifted a brow. "Criteria?"

"Yes."

"I don't see why you can't just toss some pansy ass cry baby in the room and call it a day," Stock said while dumping a bit of ash from his cigar onto the floor. "You wanna teach the kid emotions, let 'em deal with 'em firsthand."

"We've tried that already, sir. Do you not remember?" Dr. Haas flipped through some pages on his clipboard until he found what he was looking for. "With #3442 he did nothing but let the boy cry for hours on end, even with a broken wrist," He flipped a few more pages. "#2633 was the smartest individual we had besides #2558, and she barely held his interest for a mere hour until she'd proven to be no match in chess and showed no interest in the arts."

"And you think someone else who meets this 'criteria' of yours will do a better job than those two did?"

Dr. Haas nodded eagerly. "You see, if you can bring someone in who shares many of the same interests and even a high level of intellectual knowledge, I believe that #2558 would be much more susceptible to them."

General Stock pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. "Well there probably ain't a lot of kids in that town who're into video games _and_ them weird dead-cat-in-a-box science theories, so I hope you've already got someone specific in mind."

"Schrodinger's Cat," Dr. Haas corrected him. Stock shrugged. "And indeed I do," His smile returned, this time much larger. He'd been researching the teen population of South Park for months, his sights dead set on a certain redheaded young man who stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of his dimwitted and uncultured peers. "His name is Kyle Broflovski."

Stock choked on his own spit for a second, sending himself into a coughing fit. He dropped his cigar into one of the nearby ashtrays and pounded his chest until he could breath again. His face was was red and blotchy and tears rimmed his eyes when he managed to shoot Dr. Haas a bewildered look.

"The crazy lady's kid?" he asked. "The one who's always down here creating shitstorms, started up the American-Canadian war? Sheila Broflovski?"

Dr. Haas nodded. "Yes, Kyle Broflovski is—"

"Are you insane!" Stock shouted. "Forget it; we're not going through with this stupid idea of yours. You'll have to make due with what we've got here. There's no way in Hell I'm putting our whole operation at risk for one test subject who's done nothing but caused problems for us his whole life."

"Please, Broflovski is exactly what—"

"It doesn't matter anyways; you ruined the experiment a long time ago with your constant coddling of 'em," Stock interrupted and pushed passed his subordinate, stalking down the corridor. Dr. Haas followed close behind, stopping only when Stock came to a halt in front of the one-way glass that he was looking through earlier. "You were supposed to raise a kid in complete captivity with only the bare necessities and as little human contact as possible to see if humans were able to develop emotions on their own, but now look at 'em," Stock motioned to the dark-haired boy who sat in the same spot as earlier, eyes still glued to the television. He couldn't hear the commotion outside of the soundproof room. "Books, games, music, Internet access, a goddamn _phone_—"

"It's only able to contact the other subjects, and he doesn't even use it since he doesn't like—"

"That doesn't matter!" Stock growled, reaching to grab Dr. Haas by his shirt. "The point is that you spoiled the little bastard, therefore rendering this whole project completely _trashed_." He let the doctor go with a forceful shove, causing him to smack against the glass. #2558 turned his head in the direction of the blunt noise as if he'd be able to see what was going on. "I've only been letting you play along with this little game of yours because you're the best psychologist we've got and I can't afford to lose you."

Dr. Haas smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt and stood up straight. "General, I beg of you to reconsider. This could really work!"

"What's the point?" Stock asked. "Even if I didn't have to worry about that she-devil of a mother marchin' to the capitol, what knowledge could possibly be gained from taking the Broflovski boy and pairing 'em up with #2558? The rule was that the kid learns basic human emotions on his own with no interference, and Haas, you interfere _a lot_."

"Just," Dr. Haas was grasping for straws at this point. General Stock was right about Haas coddling the test subject in question and he couldn't argue against it; the young man was practically handed everything on a silver platter and was much more privileged than most of the test subjects in the facility.

When Haas was first tasked with the project of raising the child in captivity, he had no intentions of becoming _attached_. Never before had he grown fond of his test subjects until #2558. Then again, he'd never been in charge of taking care of someone from the infantile stage before. His usual cold and calculated professional ways were pushed aside in favor of a more warm and nurturing demeanor, his time with #2558 growing to become more than just an experiment to him. He knew long ago that the point of the project became moot, but it was about more than science now; it was about #2558 and getting him to feel, no matter what the cost. Haas wanted to see him grow up. "Closure."

"Closure?"

"I want to know that he is able to feel the same emotions that we do, sir," he said with a sigh. "You have children, do you not?" General Stock nodded. "You must understand what it feels like to watch your children grow and blossom."

Stock snorted and jabbed a thumb at the window. "The only thing blossoming in that room is a weed that should have been pulled years ago."

Dr. Haas frowned and lifted his chin. He was going to have to play dirty. "Then I will be putting in my two weeks notice."

"Whoa, whoa," Stock grabbed Dr. Haas by the shoulders to keep him in place despite the fact that he hadn't made a move to go anywhere. "Look, I'll uh... I'll," He looked over the doctor's shoulder to see that the boy had his attention fixed on the television once more. Stock looked down at the shorter man who had his brows raised expectantly, lips in a tight line. Stock groaned. "I'll get Broflovski, but you better have a damn good plan that won't have his mother down here the next day with picket signs and protesters."

Dr. Haas grinned and stepped back from Stock's hold on him. "Yes, alright."

"Come see me in my office first thing in the morning and we'll go over logistics. For now, I need a strong brandy," Stock said before he turned to leave, disappearing down the hall and out of sight without a goodbye.

Haas was still grinning when he looked back into the room, watching #2558 for a good ten or fifteen minutes until the movie credits began to roll. When he was sure that he was alone in the hall and that none of his colleagues were lurking around he held down the button for the speaker and spoke into the microphone.

"I have a surprise for you, Craig," he said cheerfully. #2558 was unaware of Dr. Haas' current plan of finding him a roommate, which was most likely a good thing since he hated other people. "You might not like it at first, but I believe you'll grow to enjoy it quite a bit."

With his eyes unmoving from the now-black screen, #2558 lifted his middle finger into the air—his trademark move—causing Dr. Haas to laugh and take his leave. Neither the boy nor Kyle Broflovski had any idea what was in store.


End file.
